blackbird.jpg (30437 bytes)

2005-03-02 @ 12:45 a.m.
all ya need is love...and/or a winning lottery ticket

I got a card from my brother today. At first I thought it was a late birthday card, since it had a $25 check in it. But in reading through it it had its usual typically double negative message “I know times are tough for you - and I’m not doing that well either, but we still have a future - for we are still young.” Well, I’m young. He’s going to be 55 in two weeks. But did he mention my birthday? No. And I realize its hard to remember it, especially since its exactly one month before his. Me- 2/12. His 3/12.

And for some reason that has always ticked me off. Him not remembering my birthday. Does he even know when it is? Yes. Does he ever acknowledge it? No. Do I acknowledge his? Yes, every year. I just got his card today. It has a picture of a cat on the front and it says, “Wow, its your birthday” and then you open it up and it says, “It feels like we just celebrated your birthday. ....Oh, that was mine...Enjoy your day.” heh, heh. Think he’ll get it? Meh, probably not. When you’re the center of your own universe, you’re probably impervious to the slings and arrows from your nearly invisible sister. That’s okay, I’ll just cash the check and pretend like its from somebody I like and then send him a Hallmarkian thank you note saying, “Oh, you shouldn’t have. No really. Thanks for reminding me that I’m a failure times are tough. I hadn’t realized that until you mentioned it. I thought buying all my clothes at Goodwill and using food stamps was just the penultimate expression of coolness. Not like the conspicuous consumption you display with your shiny gold Volvo. And your big screen TV. And all the presents you buy for your bleached blonde mistress. How totally middle aged of you. But thanks for remembering me anyways. Even though, it was two weeks late. Maybe now I can buy a plastic frame for my Elvis picture down at the Dollar Store.

Anyways, the ever effervescent “A” really had his work cut out for him today. Although all he really needed to do was have a huge tractor trailer full of Kleenex pull up to his office, because all I did was weep and act like Sarah Bernhardt draped over the sofa most of my appointment. I had really hoped to accomplish something useful today, because before he left on vacation, we had planned on doing some kind of role play when he got back, but I was so weepy and crying today that really all he could do was listen and tell me I “looked tired”. (thanks “A”). Its mainly due to:
  • Ongoing crappy, snowy weather
  • Unhappiness with my job
  • Intense loneliness which is starting to eat my guts out
  • Poverty
  • My inability to establish intimacy with anyone because I’m afraid of being rejected.
  • PMS (Particularly Murderous Stabbingtothebrainangerness)

    His two suggestions was get a job or get a man. I’m still trying to figure out which is harder easier. I’d like to get all feministy on him and say, “A man? Who needs one of them? But the truth is, I do. I need somebody to share my life with because I’m tired of being alone. Very tired. So tired, in fact, that I don’t even have any energy to go lookin’ for one of those scalawags. I mean, I go out under the pretense that I’m going “man-hunting” like scouring the yuppie grocery store (I go there a lot, because its full of potential men-folk), the gym and also to places like Barnes and Nobles (I went there on Sunday), but mostly I’m just out there spinning my wheels.

    My main problem is, I go to these places and walk around like I’m looking for coins on the god damn floor. I almost never look up. And I know that men look at me. I look pretty good for my age. But I never look up, and “A” says that discourages guys from talking to me. And he has to be right, because no one ever does. What I think I need to do in therapy is practice things like eye contact and even physical contact. I don’t mean “A” jumps on top of me or anything, but I tend to freeze up if anyone gets too close. And yet, recently, women have been taking liberties with me, right and left. The wiccan lesbian grabbing my hand the other day. Yesterday at work, I had to work a dinner and movie thing and there’s this African American woman who is always talking to me about “her girl”, so I assume she is gay too. And last night, she reached over and smoothed down my hair and said I had a cowlick sticking up on my head. Its not like I’m any more comfortable around women because I’m not. I’m an equal opportunity spazz no matter who touches me.

    Unfortunately, I can’t figure out how to bridge the gap. I had gotten used to touch when I was with Married Guy through his massages, but now that I don’t have those anymore, everytime anyone gets within about 5 inches of me I jump. Like some married guy I work with, rubbed my arm yesterday when I said I was upset about something and it made my skin crawl and I was like why are you touching my arm, you married perv.

    I am so freakin' messed up at the moment.

    Today “A” asked me what I could do that would help and I thought a change of scenery would be nice, like, hint, hint, a trip to NYC, where I would be totally taken out of this environment and subjected to about 3 million new and different stimuli simultaneously and then I wouldn’t thinking about myself for a couple of days, and I could get a fresh start on things. And I could also go to the Museum of Modern Art and get all inspired and come back and paint some kind of fabulous masterpiece and then sell it and become independently wealthy and give my brother a check for $1000 for HIS birthday. Although I would have to work awful fast since his birthday is in 11 days. Fuck. I wouldn’t give him 11 cents to be truthful. I’d probably just buy myself a car with 4 wheel drive so I wouldn’t slip so much in the snow.

    Anyways, “A” is starting to point me towards that damn internet dating again. He didn’t actually say the “I” word quite yet, but he was hinting towards it. I guess he has another girl doing it. But I’d rather stab my eye sockets with red hot pokers than date some stranger off the internet. I’ve been in contact with several internet and personal ad Lotharios and they were all punks in one form or another.

    The very first guy who answered my Love@AOL ad instant messaged me almost as soon as my ad went on and he seemed normal enough. And then he started telling me about his favorite hobby: Studying alien abductions. And he told me about one which had just happened between two local towns. I took it all with a grain of salt, saying, yeah? oh really? uh, huh. And then I guess he thought I really liked him since I didn’t laugh at his little green men stories (I was only laughing at my keyboard), so he asked me if it was ok if he sent me his picture. I said sure (although I didn’t offer mine). So he sent it. It was a huge image and took a long time to open from top to bottom on my crappy old computer. I sat as it opened. First his face. blip,blip, neck, blip, blip, shoulders, blip, blip. Hmmm. He doesn’t have a shirt on. Then his chest. blip, blip. His torso. blip, blip. His penis (cough) area. Well, his penis area was covered, all right, except not with clothing. He was holding a chihuahua in front of his male member. A Chihuahua! You would think if you wanted to impress a potential mate, you might consider hiring a Great Dane or something. But a Chihuahua? I was not impressed.

    Next guy was kind of boring. We chatted online the first day. The next day, he said he had just “mowed his lawn” and was really tired and wanted me to “massage his neck”. He said he was going to take off his shirt and if I wanted to, I could too. Huh? I’m sitting at my desk typing to some guy who lives near Lake George. Was “mow the lawn” some kind of code word and I was just out of the loop? I told him I would rather not, and he called me a bitch and clicked off.

    I then met a guy through a newspaper ad which “A” forced me under the threat of death kindly suggested that I should try. At the time, I was still without a speaking voice, so in my ad I wrote the phrase “vocally challenged”. ha, ha, ha. Unfortunately, almost everyone who answered the ad either thought that meant shy or that I spoke a foreign language. Of all the replies I got, only one stood out, and not only did he stand out, he also went through the trouble of actually sending me a letter through the newspaper with his return address. And since I’m a stalker, I drove over and looked to see where he lived. And it was a beautiful New England saltbox house out in the country. So I finally called him. We talked several times. He was fine with my scratchy voice problem and we finally decided to meet at the local swan pond. I got all dressed up. Put make up on. Did the hair. And I met him. When we met, he barely looked at me or spoke to me or even acknowledged me. And it was rather ironic since earlier in the day, he had been really pleasant on the phone and even, rather naughtily injected that he had just changed the sheets on his bed. You know, just in case we went back to his house and had mad-crazy monkey sex or something. But in person....nothing. We walked around the Swan Pond. I did all the talking. He was totally sullen. I finally asked how it was going and he snapped “You’re not supposed to ask that!” Oh. We finally walked over to an ice cream stand and he said he had some stuff to do (we had only been together a grand total of about 12.5 minutes) and that he was sorry but that he didn’t feel “any sparks” with me and that maybe we could just be friends, since you can never have too many friends (or some total bullshit, rejection crap like that). But can we at least be totally honest and translate what he really meant to say:

    You’re too damn fat

    There, at least, its out in the open, asshole. I was about 50 pounds heavier than and he was this little, short, skinny, weasly guy who wore gold chains and had too much cologne on. A legend in his own mind.

    And even though he was a thoughtless asshole, I was really devastated by the whole experience, because I hadn’t been out with anyone in about 7 years. And I had never been rejected in such record time. Or even really rejected at all. So I pretty much told “A”, no more personal ads after that.

    I did write to a guy named Elwood for several months. He was an architect who lived in town, who had two dogs and a house and a garden and seemed like a really nice guy. He sent me a goofy picture of himself in a big Easter bunny suit, which was rather ironic since he was Jewish. He even used to draw cartoons of him and his dogs dancing and waving at me. I stalked his house too. Although I never saw him in person. He eventually got tired of waiting for me to go out with him though and dumped me.

    So the prospect of “letting myself” go out on a date is so daunting, especially as time keeps racing on, that it seems to be getting harder and harder to do.

    I have, I think, one more shot at Mysterious Paul from “A”s group on Thursday. I had told him my art show is opening this Saturday and he had expressed some interest in it, but I never really sealed the deal. And today when I was leaving “A”s office I mentioned it in passing to him, like, say, maybe I should invite Mysterious Paul to my art opening of naked drawings. And for the first time ever, “A” was sort of in agreement (up to now, he had been discouraging me from him, since he’s so much younger). I’m not really sure if M. Paul is really my type, or any kind of love of my life material, but I keep having all these people blasting the fact into my ear, that you have to go out with a lot of people before you find the right one. And I’m like way behind, on the “lots of people” thing. So we’ll see. I know one thing....I need something, and I need it now.

    0 comments so far << | >>

    Older Entries
    upsy, downsy, upsy, splat! - 2010-05-22
    April sours bring May flowers? - 2010-05-01
    when finding a head in the recycling bin is the highlight of your month - 2010-03-28
    fifty two chances to be awesome...ok maybe - 2010-02-20
    its sorta like "Grease" except there's no musical numbers and I'm really old - 2010-02-05


  • Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty